


At the mercy of Sin

by InvidiaSaunder



Series: Doomrauder [9]
Category: DOOM - Fandom, Doom: Eternal
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Fetish, Gangbang, Group Sex, M/M, Necrophilia, OOC, Oral Sex, Other, Rimming, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:07:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27165668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InvidiaSaunder/pseuds/InvidiaSaunder
Summary: Doom Slayer gets fucked.
Relationships: Marauder(s)/Doom Slayer
Series: Doomrauder [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1976530
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	At the mercy of Sin

A rotten, stinking smell permeated everything around him, clogging up his nostrils. And it infuriated.  
The Slayer briskly crossed the spacious hall, heading deep into the web of abandoned corridors. Anger burned from within him, and the strongest irritation flowed through the veins instead of blood, which covered the ancient armor in thick spots after the next skirmish. It would seem that it is high time to get used to the unbearable stench of decaying bodies, and to the dying screeches of the attacking creatures full of anger, but every hit in this godforsaken dimension seemed to be a novelty. And infuriated, too, as the first time.  
Gritting his teeth, the Slayer jerked at the chains driven into the infernal slate with such force that heavy stones fell to the floor with a plaintive creak and subsequent crash, opening an impressive hole in the wall leading to the adjacent hall. No matter how righteous hero he may be, now it was simply necessary to release the accumulated steam on something more suitable than the endless genocide of the demonic army, reflected by convulsive tremors in tense muscles and a constant surge of adrenaline that shattered the already broken human psyche. The former Marine did not know how to cope with the feelings that were overwhelming him, ready to thrust his head up to his shoulders into a cold spring, just to somehow cool it down and slow down the disturbing heartbeat, which, together with negative emotions, caused almost physical pain. More precisely, he did not know before.  
With each step, the irritation grew stronger. The imp who fell under the hot hand was immediately smeared against the wall, not even having time to really understand what had happened, however, this act of his own power did not make the Slayer any easier. On the contrary, his senseless anger only intensified, and a new wave of the disgusting smell of bare innards almost made him break into a doomed groan. Damn stench. The putrid smell, it would seem, permeated the entire nature of the Marine, remaining deep in the brain, already heated up by the endless battle for its own survival. It remained to resort to only one time-tested method. And to make adjustments dictated by the circumstances.  
The anticipation of a hot knot is given in the groin. To relieve the almost painful tension became almost the only reason to continue to move forward quickly and persistently, making his way through numerous halls deep into the abandoned temple. Time no longer mattered, as well as his own mission, which led him into these interweaving of dark tunnels, stinking an unbearable stench to the last stone. The Slayer carefully peers into one of those and immediately exhales in disappointment through tightly clenched teeth. Only a few imps and a couple of zombies who have already passed the stage of absorption by Hell. He didn't want to spend anything on such a trifle, not to mention the fact that they would not be able to provide what the Marine needed so much. But the adjacent corridor already looked much more promising, the astringent stench, dull grunts and rare explosions clearly indicated the presence of at least two mancubuses, and the acrid hiss - whiplash, which is surprising, because the scavengers of the underworld were not on friendly terms with other types of demonic army. Looking around the corner, the former guard Argent D'Nur grins with satisfaction - a small but impressive bunch of infernal creatures clung to the wounded carcass of a dead relative, apparently one of the largest specimens of pinkys, and delightedly devoured the remains, snarling at each other and, time from time to time, swinging in order to beat off a particularly tidbit from outside encroachments. The demons were so carried away by their occupation that a sharp shot and, after that, the explosion of the head of one of the whipslashes caught by surprise, forcing them to rush in different directions from the bloody carcass. However, in the next instant, a ferocious roar of one of the fat devils is heard, notifying the others of the threat found. And, that much more pleased the Slayer, who summoned all the demons in the area to the noise. Perfectly. Just great! The howl emitted by such a powerful throat will certainly be heard by every creature within a radius of several kilometers from this time-dilapidated hall. Moreover, now the marine has impudently interrupted someone else's feast, probably obtained by back-breaking labor. Easily dodging the attacks of angry demons, the Doom Slayer thoughtlessly, purely on instincts and time-honored movements, repulsed other people's attacks, rushing around the round hall like an elusive arrow, but it was not a new skirmish that occupied his thoughts, no. Every minute there were more and more enemies - whether they were imps crawling along the steep walls, clinging to the slightest crevices with their claws, or the gargoyles were growling, clumsily flapping their wounded wings in order to try to jump from the ceiling, but in all this cacaphony of wheezing, growling and cackling , there was only one thing missing. The Soldier's eyes, inflamed from a long lack of sleep, quickly followed the surroundings, trying to see if the already familiar scarlet glow would break out, and if there would be a heavy stomp from the armored boots, indicating the approach of the sworn enemy. And his expectations more than justify themselves, because curious cacodemons do not have time to fly into the deafening roar, as somewhere on the edge of peripheral vision a blade flashes, followed by a sharp whistle of air, which was always created by a foreign ax before falling on the defenseless neck of the chosen victim with all its strength and might. The Marauder, attracted by the surrounding noise, attacked silently and deadly, creating far more problems than all the hellish army put together, but the Slayer knew that now - now - the horned demon was not fighting in full force, but only creating an appearance in front of a thousand prying eyes. He also knew the reasons for this behavior, and therefore, after waiting for both opponents to be only a few meters away from each other, the Marine grabs the former ally by the horns on the move and whispers hoarsely before jumping away from the blow of the claws of the angry lash:  
\- Bring the others.  
It is unknown what effect these words had. The demon's face remained impassive - even if only raised an eyebrow! - but, already in the next instant, there is a short angry screech and just as abruptly falls silent when the demon's clawed hand easily, like paper, squeezes the attacking demoness's neck, throwing her already lifeless body somewhere to the side. The next similar fate reaches the Mancubus - an ax stuck into the stomach of the latter, up to the hilt, turning the massive insides outward. The Slayer finished off the latter's brother, furiously sticking the torn fang into one of the evilly burning green eyes, before discharging the entire magazine into a fat body, leaving only a sieve popped out by bullets in place of the accumulation of skin and meat. They fought in silence and side by side, without saying a word, without even explaining the reason for such behavior on the part of sworn rivals, that according to all the laws of logic they had to draw their swords against each other. Instead, both man and demon, with methodical fury, destroyed the infernal army, tearing to pieces the fetid carcasses and, not sparing themselves, attacking several opponents at once. Very soon the peculiar arena was completely empty, here and there were scattered remains twisted by bullets or an energy blade, the unfortunate gnawed carcass lay lonely in one of the far corners, and more cowardly and weak demons with panic screeching hid in the neighboring corridors, naively hoping that in it will save them in the near future. In other matters, now, when the silence of the bloody hall was broken by the dull sound of the boots of the demon quickly leaving the tunnel, the Slayer was not at all interested in the prospect of cleaning the area to the end. Unbuttoning numerous fastenings of Praetorian armor with trembling hands, he takes off his helmet and looks around the gloomy room with a dim gaze before falling heavily to his knees. The thrill of adrenaline, which had previously annoyed him in order, now burst out in hoarse, convulsive sighs, and his hands were shaking as if the unfortunate, exposed to the radiation of Lazarus, the experimental, who had not yet realized that in a few miserable moments he would fall to the side of Darkness. And the Slayer fell, with difficulty unbuttoning his own pants and getting rid of the plates of heavy armor, before pulling out the painfully aroused member and letting out a moan of relief as the hand, cool from the metal glove, went along the entire length of the large flesh. The foreplay lacks either time or patience: Sensibly pinching his head, the Marine began to roughly jerk off to himself, not caring about anything except the blind on the verge of obsession with the desire to let off steam and finally relieve at least part of the tension that made the human body exist like a bare supersensitive nerve. The human psyche, now irretrievably tainted by prolonged stress and the unhealthy atmosphere of the damned dimension, was desperately trying to cope with the unnatural thirst for more, switching the attention of its wearer to the pools of blood underfoot, now to the mutilated corpses of fallen enemies, choosing them as the object of perverted excitement. And the Slayer thoughtlessly succumbed to primitive instincts, dipping his palm wet with grease into someone else's liquid in order to more easily pass over the hot penis, squeezing his fingers into a strong ring. The heat and stench of the environment unmercifully pressed on the inflamed brain, and the tart and dry air made you close your eyes and stick out your tongue like a thirsty dog, when the hand, wet with blood and semen, moved faster along the organ almost pressed against the muscular belly, with each movement everything bringing his master closer to the cum. A little more, another couple of sharp, torn jerks, and thick sperm will pour out in a white stream onto the decomposing corpse, staining the torn insides with muddy drops in order to drain below and mix with the porridge of scarlet liquid and meat.  
The Slayer was so carried away by what was happening, giving all his attention to bring himself to a well-deserved relaxation, that he did not notice how the silence of the arena was disturbed by the measured stamping of several heavy boots, moving almost in unison. He realizes someone else's presence only when a clawed palm sharply pulls his brown hair in order to shake it and press his face into the groin armor of another present. The Marine opens his eyes in displeasure and swallows quickly, noticing the emblem of the Night Guard in front of him, and below - a member of one of its former members noticeably protruding through the tight pants. He did not dare and could not raise his head, but he was more than happy to look around the environment with a dull look, and the results were unspeakably pleasing. Four or five Guardians, now the Marauders, surrounded the warrior's half-naked body, looking like large felines look at their prey, selected from the rest of the herd. Predatory. Greedily. Hungry. And yes, there were five of them.

The Doom Slayer stretches chapped lips in a deranged grin and slowly runs his tongue over the bulging bump in front of his face. The gaze of bright eyes is directed into the very flame of strangers, throwing down a frank challenge, and the demons growl in impatience, while the object of their attention in an greedy haste unbuttoned the numerous fasteners on the pants of each. The groin armor, along with the heavy armor, were prudently removed, and now nothing prevented him from getting to what he wanted, except for only one layer of rough tissue. Only primal hunger and thirst to relieve tension as soon as possible now guided the clouded mind of the Marine as he furiously pulled down his troublesome pants, clinging to his strong thighs in an almost desperate rush.  
Finally, the goal is achieved, and the desired dick, adorned with curved wreaths and a dark, oozing head, sways heavily in front of my eyes. Large. The Slayer quickly swallows and diligently licks someone else's member in front of his own face, hardly noticing how at the same time the armor was pulled off him, regardless of the opinion or desire of the fallen person. In other matters, it would be foolish to believe that the latter turned out to be against it - hearing through the veil of excitement the crackle of metal buckles and the rustle of rough cloth, the Marine blinks and shudders in sweet anticipation, perfectly aware that the feast will begin in this musty, bloodied room after a recent skirmish. Not even a few moments pass when he turns his head to quickly run his tongue along the trunk of the second or take the head of the third into his mouth, without even trying to take his gaze, distraught with passion and lust, away from the burning eyes of his former brothers. They, only they could satisfy the Darkness in the soul of an immortal warrior, help him to submit to its tender, but insidious bonds and finally find the desired peace, which the Slayer had been deprived of for many, many years. How long did he live in this world? And did he live at all?  
Someone from behind roughly pulls the withers to their feet and puts them on the naked, hot as Hell itself chest of another demon, he also presses his clawed palm on his head to involve him in a forced kiss. Long, looking more like a dexterous tentacle than an ordinary organ, the tongue penetrates deep into the pharynx and - didn't it seem? .. - develops that for an easier invasion, over and over again irritating the gag reflex until it disappears altogether. The Slayer chokes from a rude intrusion into a narrow throat, twitches in a bearish hug and powerlessly throws up the ass that has now gotten rid of the hated armor, as if begging to caress a little harder, deeper, closer. It frankly leads from someone else's saliva, which slid down the chin and into the esophagus in thick drops, burned between the legs and almost flowed like a bitch ready for intercourse, the whole body seemed to become a single liquid, tart and viscous, whose smell was the only thing that could drown out the unbearable stench of the room. The executioner frowns, catching himself at this thought, but immediately gasps in amazement when his lean buttocks are suddenly rudely and sharply crumpled from behind. Wrinkle, squeeze to bruises and push apart, as if in a mocking gesture, revealing to everyone present. How low. How low it was necessary to fall in order to receive the strongest pleasure from what was happening, from which I wanted to whine plaintively and plead in my voice, so that at last they would be planted in a hole that was painfully throbbing with desire. And the Slayer falls with a crash, rage and irrevocably.  
One of the members mockingly rubs the wet head against the open crotch, lubricating the compressed hole. Amazing attention from the demon, more like an attempt at perverse care than a desire to diversify a spicy show, and the grateful Slayer furiously kisses each of those present, allowing him to fuck the narrow throat with long tongues, equally giving his attention to his former associates. Desperately holding his horns with strong but trembling hands from overstrain, he thoughtlessly begs him not to hesitate, and finally fuck him as soon as possible, invitingly arching in his back and shaking shallowly from each touch.

\- Look at me. I am completely at your mercy.

The provocation succeeds even too well than he imagined when he cheekily spread his legs in front of the gaze of those present, without looking up from a deep kiss towards the nearest demon. Not even a few seconds go by when the Slayer is abruptly grabbed by the hair, forcing him to let his long tongue out of his mouth with a squelch wet with saliva, and just as rudely put back on his knees. The tension was in the air, becoming almost physically palpable, the already habitual stench of decaying bodies mixed with the pungent musky smell of someone else's grease and sweat, and what was happening was more like a uniform madness, born of the tortured psyche of an immortal warrior, than something real and conscious. In a tanned face, covered with scars from claws and fragments, he impudently pokes several dicks, leaving behind whitish streaks on the cheeks and lips of the Marine, another rubs against the bend of the neck and shoulder, the other smears grease on his hair. This shouldn't have happened. However, the Slayer sucks each one and takes it deep down to the balls of his throat, smeared with demonic sperm, without doubting the reality and necessity of what is happening. Tired of the endless adrenaline withdrawal, exhausted by the battles and the revolting mission of eternal salvation of the suffering, to which he did not subscribe, he still remained - more than alive -. Life and donkey's stubbornness were in full swing in the fallen human body, they forced them to go forward and fight for their survival, and they forced them to look for any ways to save the psyche, broken by prolonged stress, even if for this it was necessary to step over moral principles. Surrendered to his needs, the Marine releases a heavy cock from his mouth and licks the pursed balls of the demons, on the verge of reason and complete madness, rubs his cheek covered with barbed hair on the wet trunk. From the chapped, chapped lips, every now and then only he could understand pleas, or even just an unintelligible whisper, harmoniously complementing the sounds of the musty room. A few months ago, something in the Doom Soldier broke. He knew about this when he looked into his eyes, he knew now, eagerly pleasing his former comrades-in-arms with his mouth, but did he regret what had happened? Not at all. Everything in the world has its price, and if it was necessary to sacrifice a healthy human psyche to save the perishing worlds, then he made this choice without the slightest doubt about it. Such thoughts cause a predatory grin, and at some point the Slayer sits down on his knees in the middle of a circle of marauders, thereby causing slight surprise from the latter, before squeezing his own chest to bruises, pulling off his dark nipples in open provocation under the greedy gaze of the burning eye, and invitingly sticks out his tongue. Oh, if fate is destined to fall, then he will do it without exchange for pitiful compromises. Here, in the damned dimension, rotting alive, there is no room for condemnation of internal vices. And, Devil, that had its own charm.  
The Marauders flinch, in sync, like a single folding mechanism, before pulling up by the hair, raising someone else's head higher. Clawed hands hold the hair, circle lips wet with sperm, squeeze their cheeks and turn roughly, as if examining expensive goods from different angles, while the former Guardians themselves, inflamed by a recent blowjob, jerk off with a threatening growl on their exposed face, staining them with white viscous semen. It would be foolish to hope that after such blatant provocations, the demons will retain the remnants of patience. Roaring dully at each other, they seemed to be fighting and now in a desperate rivalry for primacy and the right to possess this pliable and incredibly alive in comparison with their body. The Slayerr felt like a prize for which there was a silent struggle. He shudders with a low moan when someone from behind roughly presses on his back and puts on all fours, and howls loudly - when a long tongue is pushed into the narrow, only slightly blurry passage. The demon that has taken possession of the coveted flesh hums hoarsely, preparing for the invasion with unexpected diligence. It is expected that the perception of the warriors transformed by hellish corruption was as distorted as their appearance, and therefore not only a person received a perverse pleasure from the ongoing lewdness. In other matters, the quiet moan is immediately interrupted - the mouth, wet from the general saliva, is again put on the penis, and the Slayer eagerly sucks, succumbing to someone else's power. He takes it deep into his stretched throat, licks and moans like the last whore on the port, lost in the sensation of numerous hands squeezing and hugging his submissive body from all sides.

\- Please fuck me now, I can't take it anymore.

The Marauder, who used to diligently stretch it with a long tongue, finally lazily runs a wide smear across the entire crotch and straightens back, wiping saliva with his elbow with detached laziness. Without stopping the others from raping the fallen man's mouth, he lowers his appraising gaze to his wet buttocks trembling with desire and lets out a hoarse, growling laugh.  
\- The hole is ready.  
The answer is an approving growl, and clawed fingers immediately burst into the stretched, carefully oiled passage, pulling the edges of the sphincter to the sides, as if in a desire to make sure it is ready. The Slayer shudders and groans loudly, not even trying to swallow drops of saliva and sperm flowing down his face. And then completely breaks down for a short cry, full of painful pleasure, when they are replaced by a large penis, penetrating the entire length with one sharp movement. Despite the fact that even in this position - naked, with a demonic dick in his ass and a few more in front of his face - he could still break free and break the necks of each of those present, winning again in an unequal battle. However, was there a need for it? No. As in the Stronghold of Doom, he needed by no means another victory, but rudeness and power that could rid his inflamed head of thoughts and annoying withdrawal, forcibly switching his attention to something else, much more pleasant and just as perverse as the rotten inner he world of the Soldier.  
Gently pushing one of the demons in the chest, the Marine greedily saddles the hot cock, which causes the others to growl in approval. In an attempt to find the most comfortable position, he spreads his legs and violently sits down on the desired flesh, for which he had to lean his hands trembling with lust and tension on the massive thighs of the Guardian. Every now and then a stifled, almost animal wheezing was heard from the chest - the Slayer knew perfectly well that the remaining four were closely watching how this broken warrior, who had succumbed to the influence of Darkness, greedily rides on the penis of their brother like the best earthly whore, like hard flesh, much larger standard human, over and over again disappears in a still narrow hole, causing whore moans and frank squeals. The soldier was not thinking about anything. The clouded mind was hardly aware of how his own member swayed heavily with every movement, how muscular arms hugged from the back, roughly putting it on the demonic organ like a weak-willed doll created only for vicious entertainment like what was happening now.  
The Slayer did not remember how long this went on. Who and how many times planted a heated penis deep into the fallen body, who exactly tortured him, forcing him to whine and wheeze under the influence of perverse lust. Everything around was mixed into one single lump of greedy hands squeezing a submissive body, long wet tongues licking every centimeter of skin, and large hot members ramming their mouth and a strained anus. The alien sperm glass in viscous drops, leaving behind whitish stains, and it seemed that the distended stomach was filled to the brim with it when one of the Marauders once again lowered it into his mouth, pushing away from himself by the hair to another, eager for attention, flesh.

The Slayer took in other creatuer's dicks with the same fury and greed that remained constant companions on the battlefield.

The Marauders fucked like animals without worrying about the comfort of others. Biting their fangs into the bitten forearm, they again and again planted on their trunks heated from the flow of blood, then slapping on the lean buttocks, then pushing away from themselves in order to pass on to another. And the Slayer liked it, oh, he liked to whine that he was treated like the last slut, letting him go around in the fight for a turn to use the holes worked out on both sides. Still trembling with adrenaline withdrawal from the recent skirmishes, the Slayer needed to be just - fucked all the shit out of him. And a soul, if there is still.  
I can't swallow everything. The sperm puffs up the cheeks and flows down the chin, falling in large drops on the chest. The Slayer does not know how many times he finished himself, and will not be surprised if it turns out that he also wet himself. Maintaining your sanity when you are rammed violently by five demonic members, tearing your throat and long-suffering ass, seems impossible. However, even this seemed too little. He needed more, even more, so that even the thought of getting back on his feet would seem a cynical lie. And he succumbs to this irrational desire to momentarily distract himself from someone else's flesh in his mouth and squint a barely conscious look back, with a perverse entreaty looking into the eyes of his partners burning with hellfire.  
\- I want more. Please. Give me more.  
The request does not go unheard. All the same roughly pulling the hair, the Slayer is laid on the chest of one of the demons and the bruised buttocks are spread apart, showing the hole stretched out by the demonic dicks. However, not even a second passes when the familiar heat behind is intensified, and the second flesh is persistently pushed from above, penetrating into the hole already filled with a heated organ. On the way, setting a fast and rough pace, both Marauders alternately pulled on themselves, forcing them to sit down with a fucked hole on both cocks and pushing them towards the other three - the idea of squeezing all the juices out of the fallen body was met with enthusiasm and collective growl of approval. The Slayer howled in a voice, allowing him to twirl as he pleases. Hands trembling almost to convulsions quickly moved on large organs next to his face, another one did not leave his mouth, penetrating so deeply into the distended pharynx that it seemed a little more - and will reach the stomach, filled with viscous sperm to the end. Self-awareness is enough only for rhythmic movements and turns of the head, so as not to deprive even a drop of their attention from any of those present, sharing perverse sick love and lust equally among all former comrades-in-arms. And the horned ones felt it, moving roughly, but embracing the used body with greedy tenderness. In some unthinkable way, combining sharp points to gagging and scarlet drops of blood in a torn anus, and awkward attempts to remove hair soaked with sweat from his face, and diligently lick old scars on tanned skin, hardly trying to imitate chaste kisses. The contrast was crazy. Everything that was happening was crazy.

\- Please b-brothers. I want more.

\- Greedy bitch.

The demon's hoarse voice is filled with surprise and excitement. It seemed that they did not fully understand how low this man fell in his attempts to get rid of the endlessly tormenting internal confrontation, but they received this news with approval and acceptance. –Acceptance–. How long has the Soldier felt him from the side of much more intelligent and innocent beings, like the same people or Argent? Does this mean that the warrior, sacred to the rest, will find such a desired understanding only from the address of those who have been defamed as mercilessly as himself? The soldier groans as one of the Sentinels adjusts to the side of his fellow and pushes his penis into the hole already stretched by two dicks.  
Pressing down on your stomach, making you feel solid, triple flesh within you. It is difficult to swallow everything, a considerable part of the tart liquid pours out of the mouth down the chin onto the chest. The stretched hole no longer holds in itself, the sperm flows down the legs, falling in large drops on the floor.  
The Marauders furiously put on their dicks, those who are waiting in line to take possession of the best earthly whore openly jerk off on the fucked body and face, splashing sperm on the tanned, covered with scars and abrasions skin. The soldier shudders shallowly and breaks his voice, now uttering only wheezing. A dozen strong hands twirl it, turn it over so as to facilitate intrusion, touching each piece of naked flesh. The muscular belly bulges out from the inside out. Saliva drips from the chin, no longer constrained by the obstruction of open lips and protruding tongue. A pale palm clasps a human member and moves violently on it, the demon's sharp claws scratch the delicate skin, penetrating into the delicate opening of the urethra.  
It seemed like an eternity had passed since he entered this dirty, bloody hall, interrupting the feast of the lesser creatures with a shot, but everything ends as quickly as it began. Relaxed, wet with mixed liquid, the Soldier does not even try to crawl away, despite the fact that he did not like to be in such a vulnerable state, even in a place like this. But, no, now he just looks with a barely aware gaze, trying in vain to stop his gaze on someone one of his former associates. There was double vision, everything was floating around, however, despite the fact that the Marauders as a whole were similar to each other, they still differed in the shape of the appendages and horns. As named - relatives - brothers, as they were once. For some time, a dull look only thoughtlessly slides over the mutilated faces, but soon finds the right Guardian. That horns are sharply curled and slightly tilted towards the forehead, as if imitating a grotesque satanic image, and it was this demon who was the first of the disbanded Night Guard, which is so recent - and it seems that several hundred years ago! - The Slayer met Dr. Hayden in the dilapidated complex. And it was he who, just a few hours ago, fought on the side of the fallen hero, destroying entire hordes of those of their own kind, in order to clear the place and take possession of the body of the named brother. Now, the demon looks mockingly and greedily, quickly moving his hand on his own penis and not taking his eyes burning with passion from the face of his recent companion. The soldier bows his heavy head to his shoulder, and he is immediately grabbed by his tousled hair in order to bend heavily and involve him in a kiss. This was personal. Extremely personal. The once brotherly bond has now been discredited and distorted by sick perception, but has not diminished in its strength at all, forcing the human body to turn over onto its back and possessively squeeze the buttocks with sharp claws in order to immediately begin to drive into the stretched hole, forcing others to look and only rub their flesh against the heated skin ... The gaze of bright and scarlet eyes meets, a triumphant growl is heard from the demon's chest, and the Slayer himself quickly licks the limbs surrounding him, wet with saliva and sweat, groans and whines from the pressure, again lowering under him. The heat of irritation goes away, leaving behind a pleasant languor, and the hellish stench that clogs in the nostrils plays out to the tart smell of heated bodies that they embraced so greedily from all sides, supporting them in weight and facilitating penetration from the side of their brother. The Marauder, having fallen for a hoarse contented roar, ends up deep in the conquered body and turns it over on his stomach, looking with interest at the wet and stretched hole. The unity, albeit achieved in such an unconventional way, binds the former comrades-in-arms, and the Slayer breathes in a hunted manner, barely kneeling, before wiping the sweat from his face and looking around with a dull look.  
\- Is the sector cleared?  
Growl of approval in various tones. Argent's guards were never talkative.  
\- Good.


End file.
